


Venom

by Koyote19



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bondage with a side of kink, F/M, Voyeurism, there really is no way to describe this one with standard tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koyote19/pseuds/Koyote19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do, to save someone who has given up everything for you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venom

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-series, two years after Sam left for Stanford.

Dawn is breaking everywhere, light a candle, curse the glare  
Draw the curtains I don’t care, but it’s all right  
I will get by, I will get by, I will get by, I will survive.  
Touch of Grey- The Grateful Dead

 

_Kicking the motel door shut behind him, John pushed Dean towards the bed furthest from the door and turned back with a grimace to lay a double line of salt in front of the door and window. Took a few deep breaths to calm himself down while concern battled fury in his heart, because dammit--it wasn’t Dean’s fault the hunt had gotten fucked all to hell, the responsibility and the error had been his--before turning to see his elder son slumped against the garish floral bedspread. Dean wasn’t looking at him, in fact didn’t appear to be looking at anything in particular even though his green eyes were locked in the general direction of the ceiling. The sight sent a flash of dread through John, despite the fact that he knew Dean had suffered no visible wounds in the hunt. But then, it wasn’t visible wounds that he was worried about at the moment._

_“Are you…?” The words forced themselves out of a mouth dry with disappointment and fear; then trailed off as Dean shrugged and turned his head to look at John for the first time since his father had hauled him protesting into the truck forty minutes earlier._

_“I’m fine, Dad.” He caught a brief glimpse of the familiar grin, before Dean turned his gaze back to the ceiling, and for just a moment he let himself hope he was wrong about what had happened; wrong about just how badly he’d failed the son that hadn’t had the foresight to escape this life with his brother two years earlier. “You don’t have to freak out, or anything.”_

_“Fine?” John blinked, then felt fury regaining a foothold in the battle with concern. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”_

_“Saving your ass?” Dean closed his eyes, lifting one hand to rub wearily at his forehead, before absently dropping his fingers to run over his lips instead. “Or are you going to yell at me for that part too?”_

_“Next time, try shooting the damned demon,” he growled, while the voice in his head screamed ‘should have been me’, “instead of kissing it.”_

***

John wasn’t sure what he expected to see, when they finally reached the motel and he unlocked the door. The small part of him that still clung desperately to the title of Father, half hoped that Dean would have found a way out of the cuffs, that this would prove to be an unnecessary adventure he could wipe from his memory with the bottle of Cuervo in his jacket pocket. The part of him that was the hunter-- that had watched with knowing eyes the slow progression of the Lamia’s venom as it coursed through his son’s veins--knew better than to hope for much at all. That part knew that even if this worked… some piece of himself and probably Dean as well, was going to be irreparably destroyed by this night.

Stepping back, he let her enter the hotel room first, closing the door and securing it behind them before she caught more than a glimpse of the bed across the room. Leaning against the door, he forced himself to stay calm while fragments of explanations and excuses flashed through his mind. Not that he really thought he could explain any of this to a total stranger picked up at a bar for the purpose of destroying the last few remnants of his soul left after Mary had died, and not that he intended to try. He hadn’t even bothered to ask her name, and he doubted that given her profession, she was really the type to ask many questions in return. 

In the end, it didn’t matter. She’d merely eyed the bed and its occupant with one raised eyebrow, turned to look at him with an appraising stare, and shrugged. “Two of you will cost you double, and kink is an extra fifty. He ain’t sick, is he?”

“No.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but the word still burned as he spoke it. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out another bill and dropped it onto the table as he moved away from the door. “He isn’t sick. Just a little--high. And it’s just him.” 

“Huh.” The other eyebrow arched in amusement. “Sugar… you ain’t moved to leave yet, so I’m counting three of us in this room. Double, whether you watch or play.”

“Fine.” Two more bills joined the one on the table, and John felt another piece of his soul die. But there was no way he was going to either take the cuffs off, or leave his son alone and restrained with a complete stranger while he wasn’t in full command of his senses. Pulling the bottle of tequila out of his jacket pocket, he left the leather coat draped over the empty bed and brushed past her to retrieve the two wrapped plastic cups from the dresser. “I’ll even throw in a drink, on the house.”

She watched him pour the drinks while she unzipped the tight, short dress and slowly peeled it off. John kept his eyes on her, rather than the bed, as he handed her one of the cups. Retreating to one of the armchairs with the second glass and the bottle, he sat back, slammed the first glass of tequila and tried to remember if he had another bottle stashed in the truck. 

***  
 _For three days, he thought they might have gotten lucky. Turns out, Dean had just gotten better at hiding things from him. It wasn’t until they ran into the were-badger in Minnesota that he saw the first signs, and by then the venom had burned its way deep into his son’s veins. Dean had flinched back from his touch, and for the first time, John cursed the distance he had let grow between them after Sam had left._

_Dean glanced up at him with a grimace, as John’s fingers bit deep into bruised flesh when he saw the first bubbles of gold rising in the familiar green eyes. Heat radiated from his skin, and John quickly dropped his hands, backing away with a soft curse._

_“Dad…?”_

_“How do you feel?”_

_“Like an overgrown wolverine tried to take my leg off at the hip,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Dad, I’m fine.”_

_“You aren’t fine--”_

_“I am. And even so…there’s nothing much to be done now, is there?” Dean shrugged. “I did my own research, okay? It will either burn off on its own, or it won’t. Either way… I’d do it again in a heartbeat, so don’t even start.”_

_“You had no business doing it once, Dean. I gave you an order…”_

_“And that thing was waiting for **you**. I saw it Dad… I know, okay? I saw her face.”_

_“It wasn’t your mother.”_

_“I knew that.” Dean glanced up at him, his eyes grim. “But I wasn’t sure you did. Lamia’s are shapeshifters, and the damn snake demon was wearing Mom’s face. She knew you couldn’t shoot her, Dad, and she would have killed you.”_

_“So you decided to get yourself killed instead?”_

_“Dude… all she did was kiss me.”_

 

***

Taking a full swallow of her own drink, she stalked closer to the bed, dressed in little more than scraps of lace and painfully high heels. John let his eyes drift carelessly over all too visible flesh, as the first bite of alcohol numbed the painful swirl of memories. She threw him a single glance over her shoulder, unnaturally red hair falling down her back, before leaning over the bed.

“He’s cute.” One red tipped nail scratched lightly across Dean’s bare chest, and his son moaned in response. The blond head arched against the pillow, and even from across the room John could see the thin sheen of sweat covering him. “So, what, he’s gay or something?”

“What?” John raised his head to stare at her, and she met his eyes with cynical amusement.

“Sugar, you aren’t the first man to buy his son a whore in hopes of changing that.” She grinned and took another slow swallow of tequila. “Though I can’t say I’ve had any go to this sort of extreme, what with the drugs and bondage… and staying to watch. Maybe I should have charged you more, ‘cause that’s a whole new level of kink, y’know?”

“What makes you think he’s my son?”

“I’m not blind, baby. And even if you didn’t look alike… why else would you have someone this pretty all helpless in your bed… and not be taking advantage of the situation yourself?”

“Maybe I just like to watch.” His throat closed on the words, though she didn’t seem to notice, and it was all he could do not to throw up the tequila he’d just swallowed.

She laughed. “If you intended to get off on watching, you’d be sitting a lot closer.”

“I’m paying you to fuck him, not to ask questions,” John growled, when he had the first flash of rage safely tamped down. “And not to talk to me while you do it.”

“Whatever you want, Sugar,” she shrugged and turned back to stare down at Dean. “I just thought I’d give you fair warning… that kind of thing never works, and I don’t do money back guarantees.”

“The money’s yours,” he shook his head and drained the last of the tequila in his cup. “I couldn't care less if he was gay or not, and if I intended to change him, this wouldn’t be the way I’d try to do it. I don’t even give a damn what you think this is. All I really care about is that you took the money. So shut the hell up, fuck my son blind, and take your time doing it.”

She had blinked at him, something almost like shock flickering across her face, before her practiced façade slipped back down. “You’re the one laying out the silver and calling the shots, Sugar.” Setting the half empty cup on the table between the two beds, she crawled onto his son and John reached for the bottle again. 

***  
 _A week later, even Dean could no longer hide the effects of the venom, from himself or from John. His skin burned with a fever heat, and each time John changed the bandages on his shoulder where the yeti’s claws had sliced through flesh, they both shivered at the touch._

_“Are you…?” Each time he asked, the answer was always the same. “Dean…”_

_“I’m fine, Dad.” Dean smiled crookedly, the clear green of his eyes clouded now with ripples of gold. “You worry too much.”_

_“You aren’t fine. Go to Stanford… take a break.” Left unsaid was the fact that Dean was no longer up to the challenge of the hunt, and that each injury was worse than the previous one. John wasn’t sure how long he could manage to keep patching him up, how long he could keep pretending that this slow destruction was not his fault and his punishment. The Lamia had worn Mary’s likeness… and the kiss Dean had stolen had been in his place. “Rest.” Say good-bye._

_“I can’t.” Dean had looked away, but John could see the slump to his shoulders for the first time. “Sammy…he’s got a girl now. I can’t.”_

_John didn’t ask how Dean knew that; if he’d been to see his brother in the two years that Sam had been gone. Now, he could only hope that if Dean had, he’d actually spoken to Sam, rather than emulated his father’s habit of skulking protectively in the shadows and stealing glimpses. But he wouldn’t ask…because ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ had been policy in the family since Mary’s death; when everyone that he’d told… had turned away in disbelief._

***

John poured himself a second cup of Cuervo, as Dean’s eyes finally opened fully. Glassy green, and so fully dilated that they should have been black except for the venom rippling through them leaving a golden sheen in its wake, they locked onto the woman in something that looked almost like surprise and far too much like relief.

“Hey, baby, welcome to the party.” Red lips curved into an appreciative smile as he groaned, arching a little to press up against her. When he tried to bring his hands down to touch full breasts, the cuffs caught, holding his hands locked far apart and above his head. Knowing his son’s almost uncanny ability to escape from handcuffs, John hadn’t taken any chances, though he had wrapped Dean’s wrists in leather first, to protect poison sensitized flesh from the bite of metal.

John could tell that the presence of handcuffs startled Dean, and wary eyes had darted around the room until they locked on him. He forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes without flinching, no matter than he wished he’d been anywhere but in that chair, and waited for the inevitable protest and horror. Dean’s eyes widened in shock, then flickered back to the all but naked woman straddling his hips. But he made no protest, and after a moment, John saw some of the tension drain from him; his hands relaxed against the restraints. Dean had always been prone to intuitive leaps that amazed John. Somehow, it was no surprise that Dean had, within minutes of waking up in such an unreal situation, already figured out what was happening.

“So I see kinky runs in the family, hmm?” She lowered herself to grind lightly against him, then reached down to undo the button on his jeans with a smile. “You like being watched?”

“You have no idea.” Dean smiled slightly, looking almost predatory despite the apparent helplessness of his position. “Though this is a nice surprise, it’s a little new for me too.”

“Yeah? I bet.” Stretching one pale arm, she snagged the cup with the tequila and took a long drink. “So what else turns you on, Sugar? Cause we’ve apparently got orders to take our time with this.”

“Why don’t you let me have a drink of that?”

She smirked at him teasingly, holding the cup just above his lips, and Dean tilted his head up enough to drink. But rather than accommodating him, she’d grinned and pulled it back again. Dean groaned, and let his head fall back onto the pillows.

“Come on…what do I have to do to get a sip?” He’d asked, rolling his eyes.

John debated stepping in and forcing the issue; but he’d already given up his right to take part, even if the thought had not been horrifying. He could tell that she half expected him to, when cool eyes tilted his way for just a moment, and that she was pushing to see just how far he’d let her go. Apparently, whatever was showing in his eyes fully conveyed his feelings on the matter. She took another mouthful of tequila, then leaned down to kiss Dean, letting the liquor spill into his mouth.

John doubted Dean could even taste the alcohol through the venom’s burn, but they’d found out through trial and error that it would block the effects for a few minutes. It would remain to be seen if it would offer the same protection to his partner. He watched as they kissed lazily, suddenly less inclined to take a drink from his own cup. Dean’s silent acceptance and dismissal of his presence had been a surprise, but after a few minutes reflection, he supposed it made sense. If he’d woken up alone, except for her, Dean would have assumed it was a demonic attack, and fought until he broke something if he had to. John’s presence was tacit acknowledgment of safety, and permission… and whether Dean would accept it or not, guilt. 

***

_By the end of the first month, Dean had stopped flirting with women entirely, though whether it was himself that he didn’t trust or the fear that he might pass this curse onto an innocent, his father wasn’t sure. John had noticed that he never took the cheap wraparound sunglasses off until well after dark, and that he avoided any sensory stimulation with a ragged determination. Instead of going to diners, they ordered fast food from drive-thrus, and ate it in opposite corners of silent motel rooms. Helpless fury finally drove John to retreat to the nearest bar every evening, when he could no longer stand to see his son burn from the inside._

_The one time Dean grew stir-crazy enough to follow, John had had to drag him bodily back to the motel, and the physical contact had left both of them shaking. Once inside the safety of the motel room, Dean barricaded himself into the bathroom for an hour while John drank slowly from the bottle he’d tucked into his jacket and waited for the burning in his palms to subside._

_It didn’t help that they were in uncharted territory as far as what was happening. None of the legends regarding Lamias included information on survivors, at least none that had lasted more than a week. Yet Dean had survived nearly a month so far. Pulling out his journal, John sighed and began recording the changes he’d noticed in his son since the encounter. There had to be a solution, a way to reverse the effects of the venom. He was a Winchester. Giving up wasn’t an option, for his son’s sake if not for his._

_They’d left the Impala in Wyoming with Pastor Jim, when John no longer trusted Dean to drive, but both of them cooped up in the truck only drove home that they couldn’t continue like this. Something would have to give, and he knew that if the choice came down to his soul or watching his son flare out into a husk when the venom’s burn turned to acid… he’d give it up in a second. With Sam gone, Dean was everything he had left of Mary, and he’d be damned before he gave him up without a fight. But staying… staying would burn them both, and he wondered for the first time if he had the strength to repair the damage his vendetta had caused._

***

“Damn, Baby, you always this warm?” 

The words drew John’s reluctant attention back to the bed across the room. The woman was sitting up again, a slight frown on her face as she ran one palm lightly across bare skin. John had hoped she would attribute any of the venom’s effects to the tequila, but he knew all to well how hard it was to ignore the odd tingling. Dean just shrugged as much as he could, considering the cuffs on his wrists, and grinned a little. 

“I’ve always been hot-blooded, when I’m around a pretty lady.”

She snorted, looking amused and insulted at the same time. “What exactly did your daddy slip you, Sugar? Cause I know you didn’t just call me a lady.”

“Don’t know… and right now I don’t really care.” He opted for the innocent look, though John saw him dart one quick glance across the room before returning his full attention back to the woman. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

“Oh? And what kind of things might that be?” And as easily as that, the distraction worked and she forgot about the unusual heat in the skin beneath her hands. “Cause seems to me… you aren’t the one in the position to be coming up with the ideas now.”

Dean smiled again, the grin that never failed to draw female attention in. John found himself grateful for that for the first time since he’d realized that Dean had grown up when he wasn’t looking, and maybe he ought to tell him a few things about the opposite sex. 

“Right now… my only idea is to have you get rid of these jeans.” Another twist of his hips let him rub up against her again, and John saw the woman fall under the full effect of golden eyes and warm skin. “And maybe let me have another sip of that tequila in your other hand.”

“Then what do you want, Baby?”

“I think after that, I’ll let you come up with the ideas. As you said, I seem to be a little…indisposed in that area, Sweetheart.”

She laughed. John finished the glass of tequila in his hand, and reached blindly to pour another. Closing his eyes against the sight of them, he wished he could close his ears to the rasp of denim over skin, and the soft sounds of murmurs and gasps. Instead, he just took another drink of tequila.

***  
 _By the end of the second month, John had reached his breaking point, and Dean rarely left the motel room. They were no longer even pretending to hunt, or that whatever the demon had done to Dean was not killing them both anyway._

_“Dean…?” John eyed his son where he sat curled into one of the two armchairs, an empty bottle of tequila resting on the table at his elbow and the ever present sunglasses concealing his eyes. One bare foot was tucked beneath worn denim jeans, though he’d apparently given up on bothering with even a tee-shirt. He hadn’t looked up at his father’s entrance, though John suspected the golden eyes were warily tracking his movements behind the dark glasses._

_“You should go, Dad,” he finally spoke, turning his face away and tightening his grip on the empty bottle of alcohol. His voice was hoarse, the normally deep tones shredded by the effects of the poison. John forced down the urge to alternately weep or puke as he took in the damage his son had volunteered for to leave him free to continue his quest. Not for the first time, he wondered if finding the Demon responsible for Mary’s death could ever be worth the cost of both of his sons, and why it had taken him so damned long to figure that out._

_“I’m not leaving you to go through this alone, Dean.”_

_“I…” Dean smiled slightly, with no traces of humor, “don’t think you have much of a choice. I’m burning out.”_

_“Tell me what’s happening.” Pulling out the ever present journal, he opened it to the last page, where the information that Jim had finally found for him was written. Dean didn’t look at the book, or at him, and he wondered if it wasn’t a good thing that Dean wouldn’t know what was coming. Not until it was too late. After a few minutes, the unfamiliar silence seemed to drag Dean’s wavering attention back to him._

_“It burns.”_

_“I know it does, son.” John pulled another half full bottle of tequila out of his bag, and set it on the table between them, pushing it towards Dean when he made no move to reach for it. “It’s just the fever.”_

_Dean waited until John had drawn his hand back before he reached for the bottle. “I want…” His voice trailed off, as someone walked past the door to the room. John could see him tracking the footsteps until long after they’d faded from his own senses._

_“What do you want, Dean?”_

_“I don’t know.” He laughed harshly. “I’ve never wanted anything but to hunt. Now… I’m turning into what we hunt, right? Because the things I dream… they…aren’t…I don’t want to be this, Dad. But I’m still not sorry I didn’t let her kiss you instead.”_

_John could hear the finality in his son’s voice, could hear him saying goodbye, and sorry, and this isn’t your fault, it was my choice. His son, he realized with a grimace, was far stronger than he had ever given him credit for; and a much better man than John was. It was the only thing letting him go through with his plan._

_“Whatever she did to you, we can fix it, Dean. Jim… he thinks he’s figured out the way. You just have to trust me.”_

_Dean shook his head. “I don’t think you can fix this with rock salt or a band-aid Dad. And exorcism didn’t seem to have much effect either.”_

_“No,” John shrugged. “But then, that’s not exactly what I have in mind.”_

_“What?”_

_“Drink, Dean.” He motioned at the bottle still clasped loosely in one hand. “And then we’ll talk.”_

_“That’ll be a first,” Dean muttered softly, taking the first swig from the bottle._

_John waited until the bottle fell from his fingers, the few remaining drops spilling across the floor, before moving out of his chair and to his son’s side. Lifting him gently, all too conscious of over-sensitized bare flesh, he carried him to the bed. Dean was shivering in his arms, half twisting into the physical contact that he’d denied himself once he started to crave it. John could feel an answering flush in his own skin, though he knew from experience now that it would fade shortly. The effects of the venom never lasted long for anyone but the victim, and his belief that the poison could not be passed skin to skin was the only thing that had let him agree to Jim’s solution._

_“What…?” He couldn’t believe Dean could even manage coherent words though the mix of drugs that John had slipped into the tequila, but he also knew his son’s altered metabolism would burn through them quickly enough. “Dad…?”_

_“Sleep, Dean. Just for a while.” Pulling off the sunglasses, he set them on the bedside table as dilated eyes slipped shut. “It’s going to be okay, now.” Once he was sure his son was unconscious, he straightened and began his preparations. It was time and past time to lance the wound and drain the infection._

***  
Once they were alone, John moved to the bed and sat down heavily. Dean barely stirred as he unlocked the handcuffs, his eyes closed and his body wrung out. Placing a gentle hand against cooling skin, John sighed and felt Dean’s cheek turn to press against his palm.

“Dean?”

His only answer was the sliver of true green as one eye cracked open to look up at him in utter exhaustion. There was no trace of gold now, and for the first time he let himself hope. After a long moment, Dean blinked and managed to open the other eye, staring up at him. John had half expected him to flinch away, to be unable to meet his gaze, but once again, his son managed to surprise him. 

“Dad…” The single word was little more than a whisper, a weary exhale, but the unflinching faith in it cut him worse than an accusation would have. 

“Are you ...?”

“I’m fine.” Dean smiled, his lips twisting into a ghost of his normal expression. “I… don’t think it’s gone…but… I’m okay.”

“Good. Because I’m not sure…I really don’t think I can do that again.”

It was Mary’s eyes that looked up at him, and he saw in her eyes that she understood the cost to him. “S’okay.”

“Dean…” He ran his hand over blond hair, darker than Mary’s had been but still as soft. “Go to sleep, son.”

“Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” he promised softly, as his son slipped over the edge of soul deep exhaustion into unconsciousness. “I won’t leave.”

***

_It took another two years for the last of his strength to give out, for him to admit that he could no longer stand by and watch the inevitable return of the golden glow bubbling through green eyes-- to feel the fever heat of venom spreading across warm skin that could only be held at bay by an endless stream of nameless bodies through his son’s bed._

_He realized now what the Lamia’s intent had been, and that she had won after all. John knew that if it had been him, he would have been destroyed the first time the venom forced him to betray Mary’s memory. That was what Dean had sacrificed himself to prevent, and why Dean could live with the cost._

_What he would never tell his son was that the sacrifice had been in vain. Because John knew in his heart that his soul had died with Mary. There had been nothing left to save._

_And as he watched the Impala head East towards New Orleans, he prayed that Dean would someday forgive him for breaking his promise and leaving him to face this future alone.  
_


End file.
